Fallen Angel
by l0velyfe
Summary: A take on how SPN's first episode of Season 9 should go. Castiel reunites with Dean after his grace is stolen, and Dean finds himself dealing with a fallen and broken angel. [Destiel]
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys~ So... this is my very first SPN fic!  
It's really just a little blurb about how a whole  
episode - maybe two - could go. I hope ya'll like it!  
_

_This first chapter is a bit of a prologue; others  
will be longer._

* * *

**Fallen Angel**

_Written by l0velyfe_

_Chapter One_

* * *

The first thing that Castiel felt when he awoke was the cold. Dampness seeped into his clothing from the mossy forest floor beneath him. The air smelled of dirt and pine, but the cold... He shivered; one violent shake of his entire body, then went about accessing himself. A wiggle of his fingers, a bend of his knee. His vessel didn't seem to be terribly damaged.

He sat up, casting blue eyes across his surroundings. Trees, trees, undergrowth, a fallen log, more trees. None of it looked familiar at all. He dismissed the flash of panic that followed the realization that he had no idea where he was. Standing up on shaky legs, he took a few steps, dead leaves and foliage crunching beneath his shoes as he ignored the stabbing pain of both shoulder blades. Something was wrong. He began to walk aimlessly, but as his legs grew stronger, he quickened his pace to a jog. Something was very wrong.

Halting in a small clearing, a burst of light in the velvet sky above caught his attention. There was another, and another. Castiel watched as he identified the flaming figures as his fallen brothers and sisters, thrust out of Heaven by Metatron just as he had been. He hoped they, too, didn't remember the fall when they woke up. Distressed, he watched as they plummeted toward the ground and disappeared behind the tree line, out of sight and nowhere near him. He was alone once again.

For a fleeting moment, he considered lying back down on the moist ground and giving up. What hope was there now? What purpose did he serve? Mere humans could not pose as a threat to Metatron, let alone defeat him and his allies. As these thoughts crossed his mind, an imposing person, a name, barged into his conscience.

Dean.

Dean meant much to him. And, as far as Castiel was concerned, the Winchesters were still in his charge, despite his loss of grace. His duty was still to protect them, but now, that duty was upheld in the name of loyalty and affinity, not orders from superiors. Sam and Dean were out there now, without him, and he needed to find them.

He moved on through the thick undergrowth, trying to put the forest behind him and find someone who could help. But it seemed endless, and after some time, he wondered if he had been walking in circles. He was shivering uncontrollably, teeth chattering, and fatigue was beginning the settle into his now mortal body. His steps became less steady, path less straight as he stumbled about. Finally, he allowed his knees to buckle, and he nestled himself against a large tree trunk, pulling his knees close to his body to conserve warmth.

Ever so slowly, daylight crept into the dark sky, providing him with enough light to see the area around him. Though he hadn't managed to sleep – really, he didn't know how to – the rest did him good, and once there was a decent amount of light, he stood and continued on with renewed energy.

This time, however, his journey through the pine forest was much shorter. As he emerged from the sea of trees, he came face to face with a paved road. At first, the mere sight stunned him, but after a moment, he began to follow the road's curve. A few cars passed by, speeding along the white and yellow striped pavement, but none of their inhabitants seemed too concerned with him.

Eventually, a small town appeared in the distance, and he hurried toward it with a slightly limping gait. A diner on the right side of the road seemed promising, and he headed toward it at an exhausted pace.

He made a beeline for the doors, but a small booth caught his eye on the way in. A phone. A phone was what he needed. If he could just call Dean, everything would be better. If he could just hear his voice, he would know he was alright.

Castiel slid inside of the booth and stared at the device. This phone was not at all like the cellphone Dean had once given him. Reaching out, he picked up the phone and held it up to his ear. Immediately, a calm female voice spoke.

"Please deposit one dollar and fifty cents."

"Hello? I don't have any money. I would like to speak with my friend, Dean."

When the woman didn't answer, Castiel placed with phone back and tried once more.

"Please deposit one dollar and fifty cents."

Growing impatient, Castiel's voice rose. "I just want to speak with Dean! Hello?"

No response. Emotion welled up in his throat, and, in his frustration, he slammed the phone back onto the receiver. Rubbing a palm over his face, he found a strange wetness on his hand.

"Need some help?"

Startled by the sudden female voice, Castiel spun around to face its owner. A blonde woman stood on the sidewalk, hair pulled back. She wore a coat over a waitress's dress. Large green eyes reminded him of Dean, and that calmed him for some reason.

"Are you alright, honey?" She sounded genuinely concerned, as a mother would for her child, and Castiel decided that she very well could be a mother herself.

"The woman on the phone refuses to let me talk to Dean."

For a moment, she looked very confused, and Castiel recalled something Dean had once told him. He must lie to this woman, or else she would think he was insane, and then she might not help him.

Thankfully, she seemed to be a compassionate woman, and she stepped forward. "Here, let me take a look." Castiel stepped aside so she could fit into the tiny booth. "Did you put the money in yet?"

"I don't have any money," Castiel admitted.

The woman looked back at him, giving him a quick once-over. He definitely looked a mess. Was he homeless? He seemed really upset, and those pretty blue eyes were wet. Was he lost? With a soft smile, she dug through her purse.

"Listen honey, not everybody around here is as nice as me. But you look like you've had a rough day."

Castiel watched as she pushed coins into the box. "Thank you."

She offered him a sideways smile. "Is Dean your friend?" He nodded. "What's his number?"

Castiel gazed at her blankly. "I don't know."

Lifting her brows, she wrapped her fingers around the phone. "Oh. Well, the operator can connect you to any company or business. Does he own a store or restaurant?"

"No, Dean does not have a business," Castiel murmured, shaking his head. This was all wrong; this was not how things were supposed to happen. How would he find Dean if he could not call him?

She must have recognized his panic, because she reached forward to touch his shoulder. "It's alright, we'll figure it out. Do you know where he is?"

"The last time I saw Dean, he was in South Dakota at Bobby's house–..." Castiel paused, realization dawning on his face. "Bobby owns a repair store, with a lot of cars."

"We'll try that then. What city in South Dakota?"

"Sioux Falls."

She dialed a number and held the phone close to her ear. "What's the name of the shop?"

Castiel's brows furrowed. "Singer Auto Self-Service."

With a nod, she spoke into the phone while Castiel stood by impatiently. He still didn't understand why this phone was so different, but if the woman asking for money could give them the number to Bobby's house, he could possibly talk to Sam or Dean.

Suddenly, the woman turned to him, holding out the phone with a smile. "It's ringing."

Having woken up from his long nap, Sam felt... decent. His pain was tolerable, and his fatigue manageable. His feet padded quietly on the wooden floors as he shuffled through Bobby's house. He found Dean asleep in a chair in the living room – exhausted from taking care of him, no doubt. Deciding to leave him be, Sam wandered into the kitchen in search of something to quench his parched throat. Just as he pulled the refrigerator door open, the ringing of a phone distracted him.

In the other room, Sam struggled to determine which of Bobby's many phones was the one ringing. Who would be calling them at this location? _'Dad?'_ Finally, he lifted it to his ear and cleared his throat.

"Hello?" he answered, voice still gruff from sleep.

For a brief moment, Castiel simply held the phone, blue eyes wide.

"Hello...?" Sam asked again.

"Sam."

The brunet's brows furrowed. "Who is this?"

"Castiel."

"Cas...!? You're alive?"

"Yes. Are you alright?"

"I've been better," Sam murmured, a small smile curving his lips.

"Is Dean there?"

Sam nodded, despite the fact that Castiel couldn't see him. "Yeah. Hold on a second, okay? I'll get him."

Placing the phone on the table beside the cradle, Sam returned to the living room and shook Dean's shoulder lightly. "Dean."

"Mmn... what?" he mumbled.

"Dean, Cas is on the phone."

Castiel waited beside the woman anxiously, tapping one foot, gripping the phone tight enough to make his knuckles turn white. And when he finally, _finally_ heard that familiar voice on the other end of the line, tears gathered in his eyes. The woman stepped out of the vicinity, giving him some privacy.

"Cas, you there?"

"Yes."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief, making the line crackle. "Damn, it's good to hear you voice. Are you okay? Where are you?"

Castiel glanced around, his eyes catching on the phone book beneath the payphone. "Dayton. I'm in Dayton, Washington."

"Okay." Dean rubbed a hand over his face, still trying to shake the grogginess of sleep away. "Okay, that's not too far."

"Dean, he stole my grace." Dean heard his voice crack. He sounded so vulnerable, and more frightened than he'd ever heard Cas sound. "I fell. My wings are gone."

"It's gonna be okay, Cas," Dean murmured, trying to soothe the angel.

"Did you see the others?"

"Yeah, we saw 'em." Dean paused. "Listen, we can get there in less than a day. Is there a restaurant or something nearby?"

"Th-There is a diner."

"Good. Just go in there, okay? Ask for some water, it should be free. Stay there and we'll come get you tonight, okay?"

Castiel nodded, and then remembered that Dean couldn't see him and added a meek "Yes," into the phone.

"... I'm glad you're okay, Cas. Sam and I thought you were dead."

Castiel swallowed and wiped his cheek on his sleeve. "I'm glad you're alright as well."

"Yeah. I'm gonna hang up now. See you soon, Cas."

And with that, Castiel heard the click of the other line, then dead air.


	2. Chapter 2

**Fallen Angel**

_Chapter Two_

* * *

Castiel emerged from the phone booth, surprised to find the woman waiting still. She offered him a small, soft smile once he caught her eye. "Is everything alright?"

He nodded, remembering to choose his words carefully. This woman was not likely to believe that he was a fallen angel, and he had no way to prove it to her. "Yes. Dean and Sam will be here late tonight."

"What are you going to do until then?"

Castiel glanced at her uncertainly. "I don't know."

"You're not from around here, are you?" Tentatively, he shook his head. It wasn't necessarily a lie. "I didn't think so. You hungry?"

"Yes." He looked down the length of his arm as she took his hand and led him into the diner. Not many people were seated inside, and she headed to a booth with him in tow.

"Have a seat. I'm Beth, by the way," she added as he sank to sit on the red padded seat. "What's your name?"

"Castiel."

"Castiel," she repeated with a small chuckle. "How... holy. Well, tell me, Castiel, what does an angel eat for breakfast?"

He was vaguely sure she was implementing sarcasm, though it was hard to tell the difference. Assuming she was, he shrugged one shoulder. "Whatever normal people eat," he answered, hoping his actions weren't too suspicious.

She smiled. "Well, how about an order of coffee and an omelet?"

Castiel looked down at his lap uncomfortably. "Dean told me to just order water, because it's free and I have no money," he murmured, gently reminding her of his lack of payment.

"Well, this one's on me," she declared, shrugging off her coat. Castiel had a feeling he was inconveniencing this woman; first, he had kept her from leaving the diner, then he had bothered her with helping him call Dean, and now, she was going to pay for his breakfast.

"Thank you," he mumbled, figuring the least he could do was express his gratitude.

"There's just one catch. You gotta tell me more about you, over breakfast." She winked, and he swallowed the hesitancy in his throat.

Not fifteen minutes later, she returned with a plate and mug. Coffee was something Castiel had tasted before, but the food...

"What is this called?" he questioned, mouth half full. Beth sat across from him at the booth, watching him hungrily devour the food with an amused expression.

"An omelet," she repeated as he paused to gulp down his coffee. "So, Castiel, time to hold up your end of the bargain. What's your story? Who are you, really?" she asked coyly, as if he was keeping many secrets from her. Truthfully, he was, and he felt awful about it, but it was the only way things could be. He was once an angel of the Lord sent to earth to protect Dean Winchester, the man who would someday kill Satan himself. But if he told this woman such things, she would most likely think he'd lost his mind, especially if she didn't come from a religious background. Lying wasn't something he was accustomed to, but he came up with a response that he thought would be acceptable and satisfactory to her.

"I believe I have amnesia. I only remember some things," he said slowly, watching her face closely to see if she believed him. By her widened eyes and stilled expression, he assumed so, and continued. "I was separated from my friends, Dean and Sam. That is all I know."

"Well, you sure look like you've been through Hell and back." Glancing downward, he nodded_. 'More than once.'_ She followed his gaze, looking down at his trenchcoat. "How about I get that cleaned up for you and you can wash up?"

Initially, Castiel was hesitant. He had become quite attached to the piece of clothing; it was symbolic in its own way, and he didn't want to part with it.

"I'll just wash it at my house," she continued. "Do you want to come with? You can take a shower at my place."

Something told Castiel not to go. "I should stay here," he said quietly, looking down at his nearly-empty plate. If Dean arrived early, he didn't want to completely miss him.

"Suit yourself. But, at least let me wash that dirty thing," she gestured toward the coat. With a nod, he leaned back to remove the stained, still-damp fabric from his body and handed it over. She took it, folding it gingerly, and pointed to the back of the restaurant. "You can wash up in the restroom. It's back there. I'll be back in a bit." Throwing a smile over his shoulder, she left his sight.

He finished what was left on his plate and drank the remainder of his coffee, relishing in the feeling of fullness in place of the abyssal sensation that had been hunger. Following Beth's directions, he entered the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

Gazing at himself in the mirror, Castiel couldn't see anything different about himself initially. His vessel had not changed; his appearance was still the same underneath all the specks and smears of dirt on his skin. Pleased that Jimmy was not damaged beyond repair, Castiel moved to turn the sink faucet on, splashing lukewarm water on his face to wash it away, and then went about washing his hands, scrubbing and scraping to remove even the mud from beneath his fingernails.

Everything seemed uncertain to him now. Nothing was right. He was lost without his grace; cut off from his home. Metatron was in control of Heaven, purging other angels from paradise. He was unaware of how many had fallen besides him. Hundreds? Thousands? And – perhaps the worst of it all – he was separated from Winchesters against his own will. Quickly, he pushed such thoughts from his mind as fear began to bubble up in his throat. _'Everything will be better once Dean and Sam arrive,_' he told himself. _'Everything will work out.'_

* * *

"Fill her up," Dean nodded distractedly at Sam, handing him his credit card. "I'll get some grub."

They'd been driving for just over eight hours. Technically, Sam had been driving while Dean had gotten some of the worst shut-eye he'd had in years. He couldn't sleep knowing that Cas was somewhere, lost and alone and probably scared. Now it was Dean's turn to drive for the other half of their trip.

He tossed some Cheez-Its and gummy bears into a basket, then moved to absentmindedly gaze at the refrigerated drinks. _'What I wouldn't give for a beer right now.'_ He plucked two bottles of Root Beer from the chilled section and put them in the basket. _'Close enough.'_ On his way to the register, the shelf of Danishes caught his eye. With a shrug, he snatched three of the blueberry ones and placed them on the counter with the rest of his food. He barely heard the total; it didn't really matter. He handed over a twenty dollar bill, took his change, and carried the bags back to the Impala.

Sam smiled wearily as his brother approached. Dean didn't like pushing Sam like this, but he didn't regret bringing him along. It would have been a stretch to get there in a day with only one driver, and Dean wasn't keen on letting his little brother out of his sight in his condition.

"Your favorite." Dean forced a smile as he tossed the bag of gummy worms at him. Sam caught it and grinned.

"Thanks, man."

"Let's get going."

The pair climbed into the car with their food. Dean immediately grabbed a Danish from the bag, tearing the package open and biting into it. The tang hit his tongue as he pulled out of the parking lot with one hand.

"On the road again," he murmured, mouth half full. "I can't wait to get on the road again."

"He'll be okay, you know."

Sam's sudden words interrupted Dean's mumbling, and he glanced to his right, meeting golden-green eyes for a brief moment. Returning his own gaze to the road, he shrugged one shoulder, saying nothing.

The brunet shook his head. "Don't be like that. Don't be the big tough guy. I know you care."

Stuffing the rest of the Danish into his mouth, Dean snuck another peek at his brother. Sam smirked and mirrored Dean's shrug. "I know you, Dean."

With an upwards roll of his eyes, Dean swallowed the flaky treat and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"He's just alone, y'know?" he murmured, shifting in his seat as he moved out into the fast lane. "I dunno, Sam. He watched over me, and now, he needs looking after. I guess I'm feelin' responsible for him, because I got him into this mess. I'm the one who convinced him to rebel. And besides you, he's the closest thing to family I've got left, y'know?"

When Sam was quiet at Dean's prompt, he looked over. The kid was already asleep; head resting against the cool glass of the window. With a small smile, Dean's eyes returned to the highway, foot pressing down on the accelerator. The dial on the speedometer climbed above 80 miles per hour as they blew past a sign: **NOW ENTERING LAUREL**. Dean adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

It was going to be a long night. But he had seen longer.

* * *

Castiel nearly hummed as he slid his arms into his freshly-washed trenchcoat, still warm from the dryer. He'd removed his white shirt and tie, for they'd been damp and musky from his perspiration, and the cotton felt heavenly on his bare skin.

"There. You shine up like a new penny," Beth nodded, crossing her arms over her chest in satisfaction. Castiel didn't understand what money had to do with this, but he refrained from questioning her about it. Maybe if he was human, he would comprehend that reference.

"When did your friend say he'd be here? 'Cause we close up in an hour, hun."

"I'm not sure," Castiel frowned, glancing around the empty diner. There were but a few employees left; sweeping floors, cleaning counters in the back room.

Beth turned and retreated to said room, and Castiel could hear merely the murmur of voices. Standing awkwardly in the isle between booths and barstools, he waited until she returned, a smile settling on her lips.

"Hungry?"

An hour and a burger later, Castiel slumped slightly in the booth, exhaustion beginning to rear its head once more. Beth had worked out a deal with the other employees, promising to stay late with Castiel until Dean arrived, and they were now alone in the quiet diner. After making him some food, she'd removed his plates from the table and was sitting with him idly. As Castiel found his stomach full and all other basic needs satisfied, sleep was next to check off on his list. But there was one thing he wanted to know beforehand.

"Beth?"

"Hm?" she hummed, eyes lifting from her sorting of silverware.

"I don't want you to think I don't appreciate what you've done for me, because I do. I just wish to know why."

She smiled softly, placing a fork in the proper drawer. "Let's just say I've had my fair share of rough road. I know that look in your eyes all too well, honey. I just wish there had been someone to help me. A guardian angel or someone, you know?" She smiled gently. "I didn't want you to feel alone."

Eyelids drooping, Castiel gazed across the table at her, sensing what he assumed was amusement at the irony of the situation. "Thank you for being my guardian angel, Beth," he murmured quietly.

"You're welcome." She glanced out the window. "Listen, if you want to get some sleep, I'll keep a look out. A black Impala, right? An old one?"

"Yes," Castiel mumbled. He didn't want to fall asleep, for fear that he would miss Dean's arrival, but his body seemed to demand otherwise. Pulling his feet up onto the booth, he leaned back against the wall, temple resting on the back of the booth and chin against his shoulder. Almost immediately, he sank into a light sleep.

And, almost as quickly as he had entered unconsciousness, he was jostled from it, the dull, off-white lights of the diner rushing back. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he looked up at Beth as he stretched out his taut muscles, cramped from dozing in such an unnatural position.

"They're here."

His legs couldn't carry him fast enough.

Past three booths, out the double glass doors, across the painted pavement and into the arms of the oh-so familiar man who smelled of oak and leather.

"Shh, Cas. It's okay now, I got you."


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey there everyone~_

_So this will be the last chapter of this little  
drabble series. I didn't want to go too far into  
the plot of chapter nine; I just wanted to dip  
into Castiel and Dean's reunion._

_I hope ya'll enjoyed it!_

* * *

**Fallen Angel**

_Chapter Three_

* * *

Dean had never seen Castiel cry before. It just wasn't something he did; angels weren't supposed to feel pain or fear or any of the other emotions that could cause tears. But he cried. He cried more than Dean had ever seen anyone cry. Hands tightened in Dean's brown leather jacket, as if he was afraid Dean would leave without him and he would be alone again. The hunter held him closer in response, brows crinkling at the sound of Castiel's muffled sobs. He looked over the angel's head at his brother. Sam stood behind Castiel, eyes sad as he reached out to touch Cas' shoulder in an awkward attempt at comfort.

Finally, Cas quieted down, trembling slightly against Dean's body. "Come on, let's get you in the car," Dean murmured, pulling back from their embrace to sling an arm around Castiel's shoulders and guide the fallen angel to the Impala.

"Is he gonna be alright?"

Dean glanced back as Cas climbed into the car. The blonde woman was standing by the doors of the diner, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Yeah. We'll take good care of him," Sam answered. Dean nodded once in both agreement and thanks before shutting the door and seating himself in the passenger seat. Sam got into the other side and started the car, pulling out of the parking lot.

The car ride was unnervingly silent. Dean glanced back at Cas; the angel wasn't faring well. His eyes were red-rimmed, arms wrapped around his abdomen self-consciously, face scrunched in pain. Dean then turned his gaze onto a worn-out Sam; his shoulder slumped, bags beneath his eyes. The two closest people to him were broken in such a way that he wasn't sure he could fix.

"Take the next off-ramp. We'll find a hotel for the night."

Sam nodded, not putting up a fight at all, and veered off the highway half a mile later. After just a bit of surveying, they located a hotel. It was run-down and old, but it had a roof, a bed and a bathroom.

Dean got out the moment Sam pulled into a parking spot and cut the engine, opening the back door and wrapping an arm around Cas' shoulders once he stood beside him. He shut the door and guided his friend into the hotel where Sam was paying for a room.

"They only have rooms with two beds," Sam murmured.

"That's fine. Thanks," Dean faked a smile, taking the key from the man at the counter and ushering Cas down the hall and into the elevator. Inside the lift, Dean glanced at Sam as Castiel edged closer to him, clinging to the fabric of his sleeve.

"Does it hurt, Cas?" Dean asked, peeking down at him as he tried to catch his eye. Castiel nodded heavily.

"Yes."

The ding of the elevator sounded before Dean could say anything more, and they stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. A short jaunt including a right turn and Dean stopped at a door reading 334, fitting the key into the lock and turning the knob. With Cas clutching to his arm, he stepped into the dark room, reaching to flip the little switch on the wall. Light flooded into the room, revealing the two hideously patterned beds, dresser and television. Dean stepped inside, accompanied by Cas and followed by a limping Sam.

Sam tossed their bags to the side of the farthest bed. Taking notice of the way the angel was stuck to his brother like glue, Sam ran a hand through his hair.

"You guys hungry?"

Dean caught onto Sam's intensions immediately. It was obvious that Cas was vulnerable and needed some space, and Sam's tall ass looming over them probably wouldn't help much. Dean, on the other hand, seemed to be someone Cas was comfortable enough around.

"Yeah, I could go for a burger. How 'bout you, Cas?" He nodded slightly in agreement. "Thanks, Sammy." With a nod, the brunet departed, leaving Dean and Castiel alone in the hotel room.

Dean moved closer to Cas, reaching out to touch him hesitantly. "You alright, man? I mean, besides the obvious."

Eyes welling with tears, Castiel shook his head. When he'd first awoken after losing his grace, he hadn't felt much discomfort. Now, though, there was a stabbing pain in his chest, as well as an ache in his shoulder blades where his wings had once been. Every movement felt strange to him without the balance of his wings, and the absence of flutters that his ears were accustomed to unsettled him.

Dean frowned. "How 'bout a bath? You'll feel better after you get cleaned up."

Castiel followed Dean into the small bathroom and stood idly to the side as the hunter ran the water to fill the bathtub. He turned to glance at Castiel. The figure standing in the room with him looked like a shell of his former self. He was tentative and introverted. Broken. Dean sighed profoundly.

"I'm gonna run downstairs and get some soap. Just... wait here."

Inside the small traveler's shop adjacent to the lobby, Dean snatched a bottle of attractive-looking bubble bath soap off the shelf. Paying the cashier, he hurried back into the elevator and pressed the **3** button. Once the door slid closed and he was alone, he leaned back against the wall and ran a hand through his hair.

Cas was important – definitely important – but they had other problems on their hands. Besides Sam's lack of strength, there was Metatron, Lucifer, as well as all the fallen angels who were more than likely after Castiel. It was a lot to deal with, and, once again, Dean felt like the big brother. He was the strong one; he had to be, for Sammy _and_ Castiel.

Stepping out into the hallway, he unlocked the door once he got to it. Stopping at the closed bathroom door, he rapped his knuckles on the wood twice.

"Cas?"

"Come in," came the murmured reply, voice thick with what Dean assumed to be emotion. Easing the door open, he peeked inside hesitantly.

Castiel was standing in front of the mirror, coat and shirt discarded on the floor beside the half-full tub. He wasn't facing the mirror, though; instead he was looking over his shoulder at something on his back. Moving closer, he tried to see what Castiel was examining so intently.

"Oh man."

Castiel whipped around at the sound of his voice, blue eyes glassy and red, and he moved forward to bury his face in Dean's shoulder. The taller male wrapped one arm around the trembling angel, but the image of the scars still swam in his vision. On the blades of his shoulders were large pink tears, like his wings had physically been ripped from his body. "Cas. Cas, shh," he whispered, trying to soothe the broken man in his arms. Sure, he'd seen Cas injured before. He'd seen him sad, dejected, even. But he'd never seen him broken like this.

"C'mon, Cas. Let's get you into the tub."

Dean poured a generous amount of soap into the running water while Castiel removed his pants and shoes. He averted his eyes as the other sank to sit in the steaming water. With a sympathetic sigh, Dean scooped up the little bar of body soap and sank to sit on his knees beside the tub on the tile floor.

"Turn around, Cas."

The ravenet obliged, water swishing dangerously close to the top edge of the bathtub as he sat facing the wall. Green eyes rested on the scars, a frown curving his full lips.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes."

"Bad?"

Castiel paused for a moment. "It's not unbearable."

"C'mon, Cas. You don't have enough practice at lying to be good at it."

Castiel was silent, and Dean shifted to wet the soap, smoothing the rectangular bar over the scarred skin gently. The angel flinched, but when Dean discarded the soap and used his hands instead, Castiel's shoulders slumped and his head bowed forward. Working the heels of his palms into Cas' skin, Dean watched his fingers slide across the reddened skin easily amongst the bubbles.

"It's gonna be okay, Cas," he mumbled idly. "We'll get your grace back."

"How, Dean? You and I both know what lies in store for me in the future."

Dean hesitated for a moment. Cas was right, and he honestly had no idea how to approach the retrieval of an angel's grace. How did one get his grace back? Make a deal with God?

"Sammy and I'll figure something out," he replied simply, trying to sound confident. Going about massaging his aching shoulders and back, Dean fell silent. Castiel followed suit, making little noises of appreciation every so often, until Dean took his hands away to wipe them off and reach for the shampoo.

"Feel better?"

"Yes."

"I'm gonna wash your hair," he murmured, pouring the entire contents of the tiny bottle onto his palm.

Castiel's eyes slipped closed as Dean's fingers worked through his dark locks. The feeling of nails on his scalp was more comforting than he would have expected, and a soft sigh escaped his lips.

"Thank you, Dean."

The hunter lifted his eyes to the back of Castiel's soapy head, a small smile fitting itself on his lips.

"Well, you've looked after me enough. I think it's high time someone watched over you for a while."

Sam walked in the door as Dean emerged from the bathroom with wet hands and a small smile. He ignored the knowing smirk Sam shot in his direction and shrugged his shoulders.

"So, what'd you get me?"

"How is he?"

Dean's smile fell. "He's... he's alright. No, don't look at me like that," he added, furrowing his brows at Sam's smirk.

Before Sam could retort, the bathroom door opened and Castiel padded out, tousled hair still wet and Sam's shirt hanging on his frame loosely. He eyed the bags of food in Sam's hands.

"Hope you don't mind, Sammy. My clothes were all dirty." He grinned cheekily.

* * *

Dean's eyes strayed from the website page to the bed where Sam lay, snoring softly as he had been for the past half hour. Cas was sitting on the other bed, watching the Discovery Channel quietly. With a sigh, Dean closed his laptop, attracting Castiel's attention.

"I'm gonna get some shut-eye. You should too. We'll head to the bunker tomorrow."

Castiel picked up the remote and clicked the television off. Dean settled himself on the bed beside Sam, and then reached to turn the light off. All was quiet in the darkness for a few minutes before...

"Dean?"

The voice was quiet and meek and tugged at heart strings Dean didn't know he had.

"Yeah?"

"I can't sleep."

Dean contemplated Cas' words for a moment before sitting up and swinging his legs off the side of the bed, moving to lie beside Castiel. Big blue eyes shone in the darkness of the room.

"It's okay," he murmured, voice gruff with sleep. A reassuring hand reached out blindly to rest on his ribcage, halting momentarily to feel the rise and fall with each breath he took. Slowly, he slid his hand upward to touch Cas' shoulder. "Just close your eyes."

"I've never slept before."

"It's not that hard," Dean said softly, scooting closer. "Just count sheep or something."

"What do domesticated cattle have to do with this?" Castiel asked, puzzled.

Dean smirked, stretching his arm out beneath Cas' head. "Nevermind. Alright, angel. C'mere."

"I'm not an angel anymore, Dean." Castiel's voice was solemn as he scooted closer, allowing Dean to wrap him up in his arms.

"We'll get your grace back, Cas," Dean murmured, repeating his words from earlier as he folded one arm behind his head.

"How?" Blue eyes focused on him, large and deep.

"We'll figure somethin' out. Get some sleep."

Castiel was silent for a moment, and Dean felt his breath graze the bare skin of his collarbone. "What if I dream?"

"… Then you dream."

"What if it is a bad dream?"

Dean's own eyes slipped closed as he hugged the other close. "Well, then I'll be right here when you wake up."

And Dean was there. He was there for the entire night, and the one after that as well. He was there six nights later when Castiel _did_ have a nightmare, and he held the angel close, even pressing his lips to his forehead in a soft kiss. Only then did Castiel understand that Dean wasn't going to leave him. Ever.


End file.
